Each man kills the thing he loves
by LaCasta
Summary: Clark wonders if now there's nothing to lose by telling Lana. Usual disclaimer. Title and chapter titles from The Ballad of Reading Goal (Wilde)
1. Some kill their love when they are young

"Of course it's difficult, you wouldn't be human if it weren't! During that time, you considered him a friend." Lionel Luthor regarded the pacing figure with a benign eye. "And perhaps...something a bit more, hmmm?" He followed that with a rueful smile. "Perhaps just as well that your instincts led you safely away from that."  
  
"Instinct? I don't think it was instinct that kept anything from happening."  
  
"I wouldn't be so certain." A short chuckle seemed to hang longer in the air than it should have. "If you weren't ambivalent, somewhere in that very intelligent brain of yours, I don't think you'd have had any problems bringing him to his knees. In fact, if I were thirty years younger..." He checked his watch. "We'll talk about what happened to make you doubt yourself like that, but that comes later." As the figure silhoutted by the window seemed to clench in uncertainty, he assumed his most understanding and authoritative manner. "You're not a natural at deception. He is. That's what makes this so necessary. Power like that, in somebody that volatile, that untrustworthy? That's what drove me to be so...inflexible in enlisting your help. But you were the only person in whom I could detect the intelligence *and* the courage for something like this."   
  
He put a paternal arm across Chloe Sullivan's shoulders, almost pulling her into a side hug, and at the door, waited for her to precede him.  
  
A/N:  
  
  
  
Well, that was a nice bunny to have hop into my brain!   
  
Go on or not go on?  
  
Which 'ship? I don't see any specific one clearly, and just about any would be plausible. 


	2. Some with a flattering word

Martha Kent smiled as she finally recognized the voice on the phone. "Oh, hello, Chloe, I didn't even recognize your voice at first. "Just last night, before going to sleep, she'd told her husband she was convinced that Clark and Chloe would make up once one of them made the first move, and sure enough, Chloe had called, sounding as nervous as Martha had ever heard her.  
  
"Sorry, Mrs. Kent. Swallowed something the wrong way. Coffee just doesn't work from a bottle."   
  
"I'll get Clark." When she called, "Clark? It's Chloe," he must have used his speed, since he was in the kitchen before she'd even closed her mouth.   
  
"Hi, Chloe. What's up?" Martha turned away to hide her smile at his self-consciousness and attempt to sound as though he weren't at all agitated.  
  
"You've got to be kidding!" His eyes widened with dismay and even fear. "It's gotta be just coincidence. Or you know, Smallville, probably the walls are cameras or something, and it took a snapshot of one of the times we were down there." His attempt at a laugh was as mechanical as fingers drumming and sounded just as mirthless. "Yeah, sure, I'll come take a look, but...  
  
"Yeah, see you in a few." He hung up and looked at Martha bleakly. "Chloe's in the caves. She found another entrance almost a mile away and it connects to the other caves. She, well, she says that there's paintings of me all over the place," he finished. "I'd better get over there, see if I can talk her out of it, convince her that it's something else." As he pulled a jacket on, he continued, "I hate having to lie to her all the time," and almost slammed the door on his way out.  
  
***  
  
"Chlo'?"   
  
"Over here, Clark." He saw the glimmer of a flashlight as he looked around, uncertainly, and followed it. He'd have sworn that there wasn't a passageway in that direction before, but the cave really seemed to like throwing him curveballs, he reflected. Sometimes he knew just what Pinocchio felt like. Not the nose thing, the wanting to be "a real boy." Kind of hard when you've got ancient legends and space ships and a father who makes Lionel Luthor look practically like Bill Cosby.   
  
The light darted around like a tiny comet in the darkness and his skin was crawling. "Chlo'?" he called again, more to hear her voice instead of just seeing that disembodied light.   
  
"Right over here." Her voice was higher than he'd ever heard it before and he wondered how he'd persuade her to let this go. Or if he couldn't, how he could explain that even if he was telling her the truth about himself because he had to, every time he'd had to lie or evade her questions, it felt like he was chipping away a small piece of himself.  
  
The words seemed all too appropriate as pain caught at his gut and he realized he'd also have to deal with Kryptonite. As he made himself continue, the light seemed to multiply into dozens of restless flickers. He caught against the wall to steady himself and watched it move about.   
  
An unexpected voice broke into the faint ringing in his ears. "It looks rather like a will-o-the-wisp, doesn't it, Clark?" The voice grew closer. "You know that legend, don't you? A light that lures a lost traveler off the path." He weakly raised a hand in a futile gesture of defense as he saw Lionel Luthor approaching him, a bar of the refined Kryptonite glowing in his hand and casting a lurid luminescence on his satisfied face.  
  
"Chloe?" he called, fighting down panic. She'd come to help him, she wouldn't let Lionel hurt him, he told himself. "Chloe, I-"  
  
Words floated back to him and he had to struggle, as though they were in another language, to understand them. "Have a good life, Clark." The sound receded as he tried to stumble away and Lionel's well-tended hand caught him effortlessly by the collar.   
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Okay, now we've got a plot and a 'ship. Plot bunnies don't seem to use birth control, do they?  
  
Reviews are much appreciated! 


	3. Every stone one lifts by day becomes one...

"They don't look particularly comfortable," Lionel said, easily, releasing his hold on Clark's collar and gesturing at a group of large rocks a few feet away. "But they are convenient, at least." Clark watched warily as the older man hitched up his jacket and sat down, as casually as if it were his own office. Lionel looked up with a glance of mildly curious expectancy and then with a tolerant and patient smile, waited for Clark to seat himself, keeping as far away from the glowing bar as he could.  
  
"Now then, Clark Kent, tell me about yourself."  
  
"I- I don't know what you're talking about. I'm allergic to the meteor rocks."  
  
"Oh, come now, you and I both know you're far more interesting than that." As Clark tried to gather his thoughts, Lionel's encouraging smile turned to a look of concern. "My boy, you really shouldn't be afraid of me. Lex hasn't filled your head with all kinds of stories about the ogre of Metropolis, has he?" He shook his head. "That's one of the griefs of being a parent, unfortunately. Your children resent most what they need the most. And there's so much that my son needs."   
  
"What do you want?"   
  
With raised eyebrows, Lionel responded. "To have a pleasant talk with one of my son's friends, what else?"   
  
"Would you stop playing games with me?" Clark had meant to sound angry, but realized that the quiver in his voice fully revealed his alarm, and once seated, it was too much of an effort to rise. "What- where are you going to take me?" He clenched his hands, images of imprisonment and laboratories rising in his mind as vividly as the time that he had realized that his parents were protecting him by insisting that nobody learn of his abilities. He'd had nightmares for weeks, but now he was living one, both more real and more fantastical than any of them.   
  
Lionel chuckled. "Aside from the many ethical considerations, I believe that holding you against your will would be very much against the law. Though it would certainly be interesting to find out whether, given the circumstances, it would count as kidnapping or as theft. Would you be considered your parents' son, or part of their livestock, or perhaps as government property? I don't believe there really are any historical precedents."   
  
Another fear made Clark blink rapidly. "Did...was there anybody else but Chloe who..."  
  
Lionel waited a few moments before answering. "No, no, the charming Ms. Sullivan was the only one of your friends who assisted me. If, as an older man, I might advise you, Clark, remember that an unattractive woman will probably forgive you for not returning her feelings, but never an attractive one." His tone became brisk. "Well, if you don't have an autobiography prepared, perhaps just some questions and answers, hmmm? When you came to the rescue that day in Metropolis, just how did you get in?"  
  
"I jumped. From the Daily Planet building."  
  
"Did you, indeed?" His answer was commentary rather than doubt, as he immediately continued. "How fast can you run?"  
  
"Faster than anything I've timed myself against. Maybe 200, 300?"   
  
Lionel nodded. "What is your connection to these rocks that you are so 'allergic' to?"  
  
"I'm not exactly sure."   
  
Lionel looked at him for a long moment and then, standing in a move as swift as a fencing master's, had the bar in his hand and held to Clark's throat. "You can do better than *that*, can't you?" Clark started to collapse and Lionel stepped aside, as if politely allowing Clark to pass. He caught himself with his hands as the Kryptonite was no longer pressing to his skin, and tried to rise. Lionel's free hand gripped him by the chin and pushed his head back, holding the Kryptonite closer. "I'm not trying to make this painful for you, Clark, but believe me when I say that I can. Is that clear?" Receiving no answer, he tightened his hold. "Is that clear?" Clark, unable to speak, finally managed to nod, and Lionel let go and put the bar down. "I don't think that going any further today would be very productive. Just one thing more. There's a notebook and pen behind you." Clark turned and seeing how close they were and feeling incapable of rising, despite hating the humiliation, crawled a few steps to retrieve them. "Now this is just for my guarantee that we'll continue our conversation tomorrow, I don't intend to use it unless you make me." Clark bit his lip in fear of what might be coming next. "Please write, 'Mr. Luthor, I hope you'll help me. I'm embarrassed to tell Lex, but you told me after that day when you and my mom were held hostage, that if I ever need help, I should come to you, and since I don't know you that well, it's easier.'" Clark finished writing and Lionel looked over his shoulder, checking his accuracy. "'My father has been molesting me for almost eight years now. He says that it would break my mother's heart if I ever told anybody and that nobody would believe that I just let him do it. Could you just help me hide un-'"  
  
"I'm not writing that!" Clark let the pen and notebook drop and Lionel gazed mildly at him.  
  
"Remember, Clark, this is the easy way for you. I could take other measures, including that theft or kidnapping we discussed earlier. I could hide you someplace where nobody would ever find you. You'd never see your parents, your friends, or your home again."  
  
Clark swallowed hard. "I'm still not writing it."   
  
"Hmmm. Is it that you're braver than your father, or just less intelligent?" Not taking his eyes off Clark, Lionel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small transmitter. "It's as I rather expected. I'll need you to come down here and help me take him to Brookfalls."   
  
Clark was able to fight back his tears enough to see Lionel smile pleasantly and sit down again to wait, without showing the slightest sign of tension. 


	4. But I never saw a man who lookedSo wistf...

He had to think. He couldn't use his abilities so he'd have to think. He'd saved Lionel's life and had lost count of the number of times he'd saved Lex's. But he didn't think that trying to appeal to Lionel's sense of gratitude would work.  
  
*Don't start with a weak argument. Works in debate, works in getting out of grounding.* Pete's voice. God, if only this were about getting grounded. The thought of Pete brought another voice to his mind. *He's scared that the same thing will happen to you.* Ryan's voice. Ryan, who had been locked up in a lab. Who might not have died if he'd gotten a doctor earlier on who was interested in helping him, not exploiting him.  
  
Another voice, Lex's. Talking about Machiavelli and how to deal with powerful people. *Shape events in such a way that makes what the powerful want bound to what you want.*   
  
"My mom. Please. She'll be worried." Lionel, who had been apparently pleasantly absorbed in his own thoughts, turned and looked at him.  
  
"Probably more than worried, Clark. But I'm sure there will be some way or another to comfort her. Pleasant distractions dull the edge of loss and she'll find many more young people to nurture." He sounded as offhand as if he were talking about getting another toy for a child who had lost one.  
  
There was a sound of footsteps and he prayed desperately that it was somebody, anybody, who would help him, either knowingly or unknowingly. If he just said that he was feeling sick and asked whoever to help him get up to the surface...  
  
Two men in, oh, God, in lab coats. Each of them was wearing a ring with a stone twice as big as Lana's. He felt like the mouse in that poem for English, whose nest the farmer had destroyed with the plow, and was just crouching there, shivering, not knowing what was happening next or how it would cope, just scared and confused. Lionel got up and the two men pulled him to his feet and draped his arms over their shoulders, bearing some of his weight.   
  
He wanted to go limp, not to help them even by walking. But then they'd drag or carry him, like a sack of feed. No, easier to take those small, unsteady steps. He wanted the slow walk to the surface to be over with and he wanted it to last forever, to keep whatever was next from coming.  
  
If only there would be somebody at the surface. Lex, he knew, would try to protect him. Lex wouldn't let Lionel take him away, not without a fight. Even if he had to tell Lex everything, he could expect at least some of the feelings Lex had for him, that closeness of a brother, to keep his curiosity from hurting or exploiting him. Or even just not wanting Lionel to win. Maybe if he'd told Lex, this wouldn't be happening.   
  
The change from the dim light of the cave, where an occasional crack let in some sun, to the full brightness of daylight hurt his eyes. They took him to a dark SUV with tinted windows and one of them got in and hauled Clark up after himself, the other pushing from behind. Their rings were still keeping him weak, though at least he was a bit away from the burning pain of that bar of Kryptonite. The first man pushed him, not too roughly, into a seat so wide there were just two of them in a row and, almost making Clark laugh at the ordinariness of it, pulled out and latched the seat belt, then moved into the seat ahead. Lionel came in next and took the seat next to him, first placing the Kryptonite on the floor between them and then, after a glance at Clark, put it on the opposite side.  
  
The ignition started and there was nobody to help. Clark looked out the window and then down. He didn't want his last sights of the world he'd known to be greyed by the tint. He wanted the real colors to be the ones in his mind and, closing his eyes, pulled them to the forefront of his memory. Every blue that was in the sky, every varied tint and pattern of green and browns in the fields, each shade from pure white to near-black of a cloud. He'd need them all. Even--he nearly flinched as it became vivid in his mind--even the pale gold of Chloe's hair, as soft and smooth as if it were made from the sun that gave it brilliance. He couldn't think why, but its glow almost seemed reassuring, as though a world that held that among its beauty wouldn't destroy him completely.  
  
The vehicle slowed after what seemed like only a few minutes. "Clark," Lionel's voice said softly. "Clark, look out the window." Wondering what was going on, he opened and raised his eyes. They were on the road outside the farm. "There's still time to change your mind. You don't have to give all this up. I'd open the door and you could walk back into your house, be with your parents, go to your own room and sleep in your own bed, then get up tomorrow for an ordinary, normal day. What I want from you, the knowledge, the discoveries, would take less than an hour each day. Isn't giving up an hour better than giving up everything, everything and everyone? It wouldn't be selfish, Clark--think of the people you'd still be able to save. You've still got the chance to choose, but it won't come again."   
  
He held the pen and notebook out to Clark again. 


	5. For none can tell to what red HellHis si...

Did Lionel really mean it? If he wrote *that* would Lionel really let him go? Or would he still take him wherever he was going to, and have that kind of a weapon to use against the Kents? Or even worse, would he publish it just to destroy them or make it look like anything they said about him was getting even? What if that was even Cassandra's vision, that if he ever escaped or were released, that he'd find everybody dead? Was this a fate he could avoid, did she see the consequences of a choice, not a certainty? He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window and tried to think.  
  
When Lionel spoke again, Clark's first reaction was that the older man was reading his mind. "Clark, as long as you co-operate with me, I'd have no reason at all to want to hurt you or your family. I'd gain nothing but a very messy situation and far more difficulty getting what I do want."   
  
Clark hated himself. But the thought of being Lionel Luthor's prisoner--no, Lionel would see him as his possession--and never again seeing the people he loved was even worse. "Fine. I'll do it." Keeping his eyes averted, so he wouldn't have to see Lionel's satisfaction, he took the pen and notebook handed to him and wrote the words, handed it back, and from the rustle of the jacket, guessed that Lionel put it in his pocket.   
  
"All right, Clark, I'll expect you tomorrow, in my Metropolis office. When do you get out of school?"   
  
Even his bones seemed to go limp with relief. "Four."  
  
"4:15, then?"   
  
How could Lionel sound so normal, as if they were old friends meeting for coffee? Still feeling weakened, now more from relief and the mindless calm that comes after surrender, he nodded.   
  
"Peter, hand me that case up front, please."   
  
Clark felt a sudden flicker of alarm, as though there were somehow still a spark in the wet ashes of a doused fire, but the case was empty, with a space that just fit the Kryptonite bar. It must have been lead-lined, too, because the moment Lionel snapped it shut, most of his physical nausea and the pain that seemed to abrade every nerve in his body ended. Moving as fast as he could without actually using his speed, he scrambled past Lionel and opened the door, still half-anticipating some sadistic last-minute trick. But there was no cleared throat, no sweetly reasonable "by the way," just the blessedly normal sounds of the farm and then, trying to brace himself for some twist, he slammed the door behind him and watched, exhaustion fogging his mind, the SUV drive off, as though Lionel had merely given him a lift rather than leaving so much of him and his life in pieces. 


	6. In the secret House of Shame

Clark almost automatically scanned the house to see if his parents were home, but stopped, instead looking for the truck. He felt like he'd never want to use his abilities again. Not that that'd stop Lionel from making him. God, to have to show him, like a sick cross between a performing dog and a stripper.   
  
It didn't look like they were home, and more slowly than he ever had before, he climbed the steps to the loft, trying to think what he could tell his parents. "Nope, there weren't any pictures of me in the cave, Chloe was just handing me over to Lionel Luthor. Oh, yeah, and he said that he'd take me away and lock me up for the rest of my life or I could write a letter saying that Dad was molesting me, so I wrote the letter, hope that's okay. If you got the baling wire, I can go ahead and finish up the north end."  
  
Okay, fine, he'd been pretty absorbed in finally getting to date Lana, he shouldn't have treated Chloe like that, he should have told her, but she didn't have any right to do that to him! For somebody who just a while ago thought that she was in love with him, and who had been one of his best friends since eighth grade, she sure was quick to package him up with a nice bow around his neck for Lionel.   
  
He heard a car pull up outside and held his breath, like that would really keep anybody from finding him. "Clark?" God, he hadn't even thought about Pete, well, giving in and accusing your dad of sexual abuse to save your own skin can kind of distract you. "Clark?" Pete sounded worried. Fighting the lack of will that made his bones feel like they were too heavy to move, he got up.  
  
"Up here, Pete." His voice sounded weird even to him.  
  
Pete came tearing up the stairs. "Clark, your mom said what happened, she and your dad are at the caves looking for you." He must have gotten another look at Clark. "Hey, what happened?"  
  
"Lionel Luthor knows."  
  
"What?" Clark wished Pete hadn't looked like the sky had fallen.  
  
"Yeah. I don't know how much he guessed and how much *Chloe* told him."   
  
"Wait, back up. Chloe told him?"  
  
He could tell that he was shouting, but it sounded like he was halfway across the field or something. "Yeah, Chloe called me to come to the caves, said that she'd found a new one, and that my face was all over the walls. When I came over, she and Lionel were waiting for me. Can you believe it, she just walked out. No, wait, she said, 'Have a good life,' so that makes it all better, it's not like she was handing me over to some kind of power-mad sicko."   
  
"Chloe did that?" Pete shook his head. "I just can't believe it."  
  
"I was there, Pete, the one it happened to!"   
  
"Then what?"   
  
"Nothing much, he made me tell him about everything, if there was something I didn't know, he'd use some more Kryptonite on me, then he said that he'd put me in a lab somewhere and I'd never see anybody I cared about again, or I could write him a letter saying that my dad had been sexually abusing me for the past eight years and asking for his help and he'd use it if I ever agreed not to play lab rat for him. Now I have to do whatever he wants for an hour every day."   
  
"Shit, Clark."   
  
"First, I said I wasn't going to, but then they started dragging me out, and they put me in a car with all this Kryptonite, and..." He pounded his fist on the railing, shattering it. "I was so scared, Pete, and he said he wouldn't use the letter unless he had to, and he stopped the car right here, so I could see the farm, and he told me...I hate myself..." He didn't want even Pete to hear how much his voice was shaking and turned away, closing his eyes.  
  
There was a long pause and he was sure that Pete was as disgusted with him as he was. "Doing the intelligent thing, giving yourself some maneuvering room, yeah, you're a real scumbag, Clark." He felt Pete grab his upper arm. "Come on, Clark, don't tell me that your parents wouldn't have wanted you to do that."  
  
"Yeah, every parent's dream, raising a kid who'll accuse them of *that*."  
  
"Or how about every parent's nightmare, their kid just disappearing? And knowing something terrible has happened, but no idea what or whether they'll ever see them again?" Clark turned a bit, and Pete grabbed him by both arms. "Stop it with the guilt, already!"  
  
"That's easy for you to say, you're not the one who..." He couldn't finish the sentence. "Please, Pete, promise not to tell my parents, I know I have to sometime, but not now."  
  
"Tell us what?" He hadn't even heard his dad come up the steps. 


	7. Must set a lock upon his lips And make h...

Clark felt bitterness flood him just like pain did when he was exposed to the Kryptonite. Why did everything have to happen to him? He tried a shrug. "Nothing big."  
  
Jonathan just looked at him and Clark couldn't take it. "It's not like there are things that you don't tell me!" he shouted and charged down the steps. Jonathan shouted something after him, sounding worried rather than angry, but that made Clark feel even worse.  
  
*He's got the letter now, you can't run away,* mocked a voice as he kept running, not even paying attention to where he was, letting his senses take over and feel the different sensations as his feet hit the ground, soft plowed dirt, gravel, blacktop, grass, roadside weeds, the different scents that were gone so quickly that they seemed memories the instant they happened.   
  
Or what if he did run? He couldn't run from Lionel but if he left Smallville, he wouldn't have to face everybody. God, how was he supposed to face Chloe in school tomorrow? He stopped to think, leaning on the guardrail over the dam. Could he just tell his parents and Pete that he couldn't stay around any more, it wasn't anything that they'd done, just something that he had to do? Maybe he could even tell Lana everything...it's not like it could hurt anything any more...he wondered what he'd see in her candid eyes. Would she be sorry for him or would she be angry that he hadn't told her before? Or even blame him for the death and misery he brought with him, all the lives his arrival ruined? Well, it's not like even that reaction could make him feel any worse.   
  
He ran just a shade faster than a normal human could, repeating to himself that it couldn't get worse. Slowing as he approached the Sullivan's house, hoping that she'd be alone inside, or that he could catch her attention and get her to join him outside, he stopped and frowned as he saw what looked like movers loading things into a van. Moving closer, cautiously, he saw Chloe and her father pulling away from the sidewalk in a car jammed full, and Lana waving. The moment the car was out of sight, he walked to her at a normal pace.  
  
"Hi, Lana, what's going on?"   
  
"Oh, Chloe didn't say anything to you?" She looked at him curiously and he tried to grin, hoping that he could lie convincingly.  
  
"I was running. Got a bit out of breath. Anything about what?"   
  
"It's hard to believe. He got an incredible offer from LuthorCorp and exactly the same time, a space opened in Palmer."   
  
"And they offered it to Chloe?" Palmer was one of the most prestigious--and expensive--private school in Metropolis, and the competition for openings was incredible.   
  
"Yeah, they just started a journalism scholarship and she got it."  
  
Lionel must have had everything all set up. "So what's happening with you? Hosts moving out right from under you."  
  
Her smile sparkled at him. "I'm their house-sitter. That way, they can come back for weekends or anything like that if they want to."  
  
"Wow, that must have been some job offer, they're heading out right now. I wonder what it is."   
  
She must have heard the sarcasm. "Clark, she didn't tell anybody before because she didn't know before! She probably tried to get you but you were out. I think he had to give the movers his first-born son or something." She almost frowned at him. "Why do you keep making mysteries about things?"   
  
"It's not hard, around here," he muttered. Trying to change tones, he asked, "Lana, what would you say if-" He cut himself off, pretending he had something in his throat. Not too far from the truth, since he could see she was already on the edge of being annoyed at him. "What would you say about coffee or something? Or maybe not coffee, grab a pint of Ben and Jerry's and two spoons?" That'd give him a bit of time and he'd be able to figure out how to say something.  
  
He wasn't sure if it took a second before she smiled up at him. "I think I could stand it."  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
AN: Sheesh, finally the Muse says hello again on this one. As usual, no idea where it's going, it looks like it twisted into Clana while I wasn't looking!   
  
I'd thwack the Muse over the head with something if I didn't know that she could probably get even in all KINDS of ways. Slip the plot bunnies fertility pills.   
  
Plot bunny fertility pills.  
  
I think I'm going to hide under the desk now, shove some chocolate under periodically, would you? 


End file.
